Strength is not Immortality

My grandmother is a rock.

The things she has endured in her lifetime, and come out even stronger on the other side, are huge. Still she soldiers on.  She's a matriarch no one messes with.
She's also 83.

She my biological grandmother and she lives in California.  I try to see her every year but, I admit, it's been a couple years.  And with every visit, I see the frailty seeping in.  She needs a walker to get around.  She's on oxygen 24/7 and still can't get enough air.
She's my link to my past.

As I contemplate her mortality, I'm awash in emotion.  What will my life be like without her?
She is the one person who loves me unconditionally.
She doesn't place expectations on her affection. She doesn't try to manipulate me in any way.
She doesn't look at me with blame.  She doesn't see me as a symbol of all that went wrong in her life, her daughter's life, my life.
The thought of losing her overwhelms me.

She instilled in us the importance of being a strong, independent, self-reliant women.  My aunt, my cousin, my sister and I have all achieved this to varying degrees.  Sometimes it serves us well, sometimes it interferes in our relationships.
But we always muster through, using her strength.
We persevere.
We trudge through.
We survive, maybe even thrive.
I wonder how that will change when she is gone.

She's just always been there.
Taking us in after my mother's death.
Keeping us together as a pair when we entered the foster care system.  Visiting us in our new home.
Phone calls, card and gifts throughout the years of separation.
Always maintaining the relationship, the connection with her and my past.

As I've aged our relationship has changed. We talk about deeper things, and I feel the guilt she carries.  Guilt over things she's not responsible for.
I feel her sadness and her loss.
I feel her loneliness.
I feel her love.
And I feel her undeniable strength.

Strength I can only hope to live up to.